Blog Archives

Competing realities

This time last week, all being well, we would have been preparing to receive the novelist Philip Pullman as our guest speaker for the Dark Angels masterclass at Merton College, Oxford. Sadly, all was not well. Poor Philip had been … Continue reading

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Aqua vitae

Every two years we run a Dark Angels masterclass at Merton College, Oxford. I am there now. Three nights in a medieval Oxford college is in many ways a retreat from the world; but it’s also a sojourn in one … Continue reading

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Elmo’s fire

On the days when I’m not out at meetings I have a routine. I work in the house until around 11.00 and then walk the couple of hundred yards to Birnam Arts, the arts centre that sits at the heart … Continue reading

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Be a brick

In this first of a series of occasional posts by guest contributors, my friend and fellow Dark Angel, STUART DELVES, picks up the story of Careless from last week … Last November, having taken a brief from a client in … Continue reading

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Careless

I took a long time to get started in adult life. After university and a false start in London I took off and travelled in South America. I was 23. When I came back, a year later, I was rich … Continue reading

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The empathy revolution

I’m most grateful to all the people who have been in touch following the last two posts about my grandfather’s experiences on the Arctic Convoys. Coincidentally, as my cousin pointed out in his comment two weeks ago, my maternal grandfather … Continue reading

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Convoy (continued)

On 27 June 1942, convoy PQ17 set sail from Hvalfjord in Iceland for the Russian port of Archangel. The convoy comprised 35 merchant ships and a close escort of destroyers, submarines, smaller craft and two anti-aircraft ships, one of which, … Continue reading

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Convoy

Last week the chef at my mother’s care home handed me a hefty tome entitled The Arctic Convoys, 1941-1945 (a man of eclectic tastes he has previously lent me a DVD of Cream at the Albert Hall). As a keen … Continue reading

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Whose truth?

‘I thought it was Mum who had the idea for the bus, not Dad,’ said my brother, in response to my post here last week about our teenage hideout. It’s a common enough exchange between siblings, and one that surely … Continue reading

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Magic bus

I wrote last week about acting on wild ideas. My father was a judge. As the profession would suggest, he was the most rational of men and not given to frequent flights of the imagination. Occasionally, though, he surprised us … Continue reading

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